


Crossed Wires

by MsChievous



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Which is saying something, background Gladnis - Freeform, but a lot of hurt, but not enough to tag it, more so that usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-10 19:05:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11132880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsChievous/pseuds/MsChievous
Summary: Written for thekinkmeme:Prompto didn't know he was an MT, just that he has this barcode and it never comes off no matter what he does. When he figures out he's an MT though, a button is pushed or a switch is flipped and a week later Prompto just dies++Turns out Niflheim scientists put a short circuiting device at the base of Prompto's spine so it will kill him instantly+++It happens during his induction into the Crownsguard. Prompto is walking towards the king when all of a sudden he drops dead+++++Prompto stays dead, no miraculously living through it. The bros find out what Niflheim did to Prompto and give him a proper Lucian burial because he lived in Insomnia all his life, and even if he has this barcode he is a human being+++++++++Prompto's grave is desecrated when people find out about what happened. The bros clean it up and fix it whenever they can until Noctis just puts a protection spell on it





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, I've been more absent than usual. I didn't quite lose my _inspiration_ , but I lost my _motivation_. Y'all are great people, and your comments are always great to hear, but I'm a perfectionist and I think, "If this isn't 100% perfect, I shouldn't even consider putting it up here" and I'm fighting against that urge. I want to do my best, yes, but not at the cost of my motivation. So uploads will be shaky at best. Please bear with me. I am experimenting with a few different ways, so we'll see what happens!
> 
> Also, I'm working longer hours to save up for a PS4 because I AM GOING TO PLAY EPISODE PROMPTO WHEN IT COMES OUT, GOD DAMN IT.
> 
> Without further ado, the story!

“Calm down, you’ll do fine, Prompto.” Noctis’ hands are rubbing up and down his biceps, their calloused warmth a familiar comfort. Prompto smiles back at him, wishing that he could pause this moment in time. He bring up his camera and snaps a shot of Noctis’ face. Mission accomplished.

Noct takes a step back, swatting away the camera lightly. “Gah, Prompto, how about some heads up before you do that?” He suggests, though he knows it will go unheeded.

“No can do, buddy.” Prompto replies with a grin, setting the camera back down on the edge of the nightstand. “Candid moments are the best. They capture the reality of the situation.”

“Yeah, well, reality sucks. Besides. We’re in my house. My rules.” Noctis pushes closer til they’re nose to nose, foreheads touching.

“Oh. Your house? I was under the impression this belonged to the king. Unless you’re planning a coup?” Prompto smirks at the challenge, pressing his chin forward so his lips brush Noctis’

Noctis chuckles and backs down. “Fine, you win this one. I-”

A knock on the door stops him, and he turns around to face Ignis, who is poking his head through Noctis’s bedroom door. “Highness, your father is asking for you. It seems they are almost ready for the ceremony.”

With a nod, Noctis turns to leave, but not before giving Prompto a quick peck on the cheek. “See you soon,” He says with a smile.

Prompto smiles back and nods, though it’s weighed down by the news he still hasn’t told anyone, about who-  _ what _ \- he was. He tries to make himself say it now, to get it out before Noctis has a chance to accidentally appoint an MT to the position of Crownsguard, but his voice fails him, and then Noctis is gone.

“Here, allow me to help you.” Ignis steps forward, and manages to tie the tie quickly. “Everyone is so proud of you, Prompto. You’ve done so much, and come so far. You’ve beaten back so many odds Noctis will do well to keep someone like you around.”

Face flushing, Prompto tries to turn down the compliment, but Ignis insists, “Don’t sell yourself short. You’ve earned this title.” Ignis backs away, brushing off nonexistent dirt from the shoulders of Prompto’s suit. “Very nice.” He says, raking his gaze up and down Prompto’s new outfit.

It’s probably the most expensive outfit he owns, and he is half-tempted to keep the tags on so he can return it after the ceremony, but Noctis kept telling him how good he looked in it, so Prompto decided to keep it. It’s just a simple black tux, but it’s flattering to his figure, and you never know when you might need a black tux. The way Gladio and Ignis were constantly on top of each other, a wedding couldn’t be too far away.

“Thanks,” He replies, unsure of what else  _ to  _ say. He’s so nervous, a headache is brewing in the base of his skull, and he tries to rub away the pain.

As always, Ignis catches on. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, just a headache. I get them sometimes when I’m nervous.” He waves off Ignis’ concern, though this headache is worse than most, and it’s not in his temple like they usually are, but he just chalks it up to more anxiety than usual.. 

“Would you like something to drink? We have some time before the ceremony, if you wish.”

“Nah, it’s no big deal. I just need to get it over with.” He sighs and picks up his camera, flicking through his pictures in an attempt to calm himself down. 

“Understandable. For my own Crownsguard ceremony, I was shaking so hard, I nearly dropped my daggers.” Ignis responds.

Prompto looks up and snorts, “Really? Wow, now I feel a lot better. I only feel like puking and passing out.”

Ignis presses a hand to Prompto’s shoulder and smiles. “Don’t worry. The ceremony will be worth it.” There’s something hidden behind that smile, and Prompto squints his eyes.

“You’re not telling me something. Am I gonna be punk’d? Please, Iggy, I-”

“Trust me, it will be a pleasant surprise.” He winks, then he face returns to its typical smooth neutrality, and Prompto knows that he won’t be getting any more information, but it doesn’t stop him from trying. By the time Prompto has to leave so he’s not late to his own Induction, Ignis is severely regretting saying anything.

Ignis stops Prompto outside the doors to the throne room, whispering words of encouragement before slipping in himself. 

Prompto is left to his thoughts and his growing headache. Someone is talking to him, reminding him what’s he’s going to do, where he’s supposed to go. They went over everything in yesterday’s rehearsal, but it was suddenly becoming real now. He is going to become a Crownsguard now.

But deep down, he knows he shouldn’t. MT’s shouldn’t be allowed to be Crownsguard. A part of him wishes that he never found out, that that odd man had never somehow caught a glimpse of his tattoo and gave him clues to its origins. He wishes that his curiosity didn’t lead him to endlessly chase down every lead he could. He wishes that he could just get rid of the tattoo and forget about it.

But now he can’t. He’s stuck with the knowledge that he’s supposed to be an MT, and that the barcode on his wrist now hidden by a slightly fancier wristband than he usually wears is proof of that. 

“Understood?” The man overseeing the Induction leans forward, almost accusingly as his head throbs even more.

“Y-yeah. I got it. Walk up to the first landing, kneel down. No biggie.”

The man raises his eyebrow but says nothing. His phone buzzes, and he glances at it, then back at Prompto. “Okay, kid. Your crowd is waiting.”

The doors open with the rhythmic thumping of bass drums, and he is pushed forward slightly. He stumbles, catches himself, then strides forward, as if his knees aren’t shaking uncontrollably, and his head isn’t throbbing. This is it, the biggest moment of his life. 

He’s glad that the drums are playing. It’s some kind of ritualistic beat, masking the sound of his footsteps on the ground, and filling the silence with something other than his own frantically-beating heart.

He’s halfway to the first set of stairs when he realizes something is wrong. His head hurts way too much. 

Before he can so much as open his mouth, though, there’s a sudden, fiery pain in the base of his skull, and everything goes dark and cold.

 

* * *

 

Noctis watched as the doors opened, and Prompto was ushered through to the beat of traditional Lucian drums. He looked nervous, but he hid it well with an almost jaunty stride. Noctis bit back a smile and smoothed a hand over the bulge in his pocket. Good. It was still there.

He had first come up with this idea while talking with Gladio, and after discussing it with Ignis and Cor, had finally decided that he would propose today, right after Prompto was sworn in.

It was a struggle to get in touch with his parents, but he had managed it, and asked for Prompto’s hand. They seemed more surprised that Prompto had someone that close to him than Noctis thought they had right to be, but Prompto had said that he accepted the relationship he had with his parents, and it wasn’t Noctis’ place to judge. 

Then he asked his own father, was it okay, would there be any repercussions, would he be expected to take a concubine, was his father disappointed in him for not marrying some wealthy noblewoman.

After getting Regis’ approval, Noctis went ring shopping with Ignis. That had been hell. He spent hours upon hours searching for the perfect ring. By the end of it, he had wanted to kick something, but he left the store with a pair of matching silver and gold rings marked with the date they officially introduced themselves to each other.

Prompto’s ring now sat in a slim black box in his right pocket. He planned out how he would ask: After Prompto had declared his fealty, Noctis would pull him to his feet, give him a quick hug, then get down on one knee and pray that Prompto accepted him.

He glances to the side, to make sure Iris is recording this. He sees her grinning at his phone screen in her hand and smiles. Good. He turns his attention back to his boyfriend, nearly Crownsguard, and his smile falters.

Prompto falls to the ground, halfway to the stairs he’s supposed to climb. For a second, Noctis thinks that he just tripped, that he’ll get to his feet, horribly embarrassed, but otherwise fine. After a few seconds, though, Noctis starts to worry. Had he passed out?

“Prompto? You okay?” He dares to ask. The drums are still going, intent on not making a huge scene, but when Prompto still doesn’t move or answer, they slowly peeter out.

Noctis’ heart is hammering in his chest, and he warps to Prompto’s side, where the blonde is face-down on the ground, unmoving. He carefully turns Prompto over and scrambles back with a shout before tears start pouring down his face.

Prompto’s eyes are open, but unseeing and glassy, the edges rimmed in blood. What looks like a nosebleed peeks out from one of his nostrils, and Noctis can see blood pooling in the back of his slightly agape mouth.

“Oh, gods, Prompto!” He presses his fingers to the vein on Prompto’s neck. Nothing. He moves it to the other side, praying that he just missed it, but there’s no sign of a heartbeat. Finally, he presses his head to Prompto’s chest, but his shaky breaths make it hard to listen. 

He’s starting CPR by the time Cor arrives at his side, followed closely by Ignis and Gladio. Cor takes one look at Prompto, and his fist clenches his sword hilt. 

“Gladio, go get the doctors and some Phoenix Downs. Ignis, I take it you know where the defibrillator is?” He doesn’t wait for Ignis to respond, “So go get it.”

Noctis barely takes notice of this, plugging Prompto’s nose and breathing into his mouth. His vision is blurred by the tears, and he can barely hear anything over the ringing in his ears as he chants, “Prompto, wake up. Prompto wake up,” over and over and over again.

He almost attacks Cor for pulling him away as Ignis moves in with the defibrillator, cutting away Prompto’s crisp white shirt to reach his skin more quickly. He places the pads and presses a button. 

Prompto’s whole body spasms, and Ignis tries to find a pulse. When he doesn’t find one, he tries again. And again. And again. By the time he’s ready to give up-sure that Prompto’s dead and gone- Gladio arrives with the doctor and a handful of Phoenix Downs. Ignis is afraid that it’s too late for even a Phoenix Down, but perhaps their attempts at revival had helped.

Noctis snatches one of the Phoenix Downs from Gladio and shoves it into Prompto’s hand, forcing him to crush it.

For a second, everyone thinks it works. Prompto blinks, inhales sharply, but then he stills, never exhaling. 

Noctis is near feverish, forcing Prompto to crush another, then another. Each time, Prompto is slightly alive for half a second, before death claims him again. 

“No, Prompto, please!” Noctis grabs for another Phoenix Down, but there are no more. Gladio just gives him an empty look, and he turns back to Prompto in horror. No… No, this can’t be the end.

“P-Prompto?” Noctis’ voice breaks as he brushes hair from Prompto’s face. “Prompto, p-p-please! W-wake up!” He clutches Prompto close, burying his face in the blonde’s chest in an attempt to stifle the tears. “Prompto, please… I… I love you. Please d-don’t leave me…”

The rest of the throne room is silent as Noctis’ sobs echo hollowly, and Prompto’s eyes stare lifelessly at the ceiling.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one reacts well to Prompto's death, and everyone has a different way of coping. Some more effective than others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeepers, this chapter. It was so fun to write, but at the same time, so heartbreaking... I hope you enjoy!

_“Are you sure it’s on?” a feminine voice asks from behind the camera._

_Noctis turns around, still walking towards where he was_ supposed _to be. “Yeah, it’s recording now. Just… Just don’t be too obvious about it, ‘kay, Iris?”_

_“Aye, aye, Highness!” The camera jolts as the hand holding it snaps into a salute. The camera shows a view of the high, arched ceiling, decorated with beautiful murals. Then the hand lowers and straightens. Noctis is walking up the first flight of stairs to where Cor is waiting._

_“Does Prompto know what’s gonna happen?” Iris whispers to someone standing nearby._

_A gravelly voice answers, “I don’t think so. Though I wouldn’t be surprised if loverboy here couldn’t keep it under wraps.”_

_“Gladdy! He’s gonna listen to this thing!” Iris says indignantly, then squawks as the camera is ripped out of her grip and focuses on Gladio’s face._

_“Hey, Prompto, Noctis. Congrats on tying the knot. And Noct, if you_ didn’t _tell Prompto about this beforehand, I’ll let you skip morning practice for the entire week.”_

_“Gladdy, give it back! It’s about to start!”_

_The camera once again passes hands, and a new voice speaks up, “Are you two behaving?” The camera whirls around to face Ignis, who had just sidled up between Gladio and Iris._

_“Yeah, I promise!”_

_Before anyone can make any other comments, the drums start, and Prompto walks towards Noctis. In the background, Iris hums “Here Comes the Bride”, much to Gladio’s glee, and Ignis’ annoyance._

_Noctis shifts to pat his pocket, then stare into the camera. He grins and turns back to Prompto just in time to catch Prompto tripping, listing forward, then toppling over._

_Iris giggles, and there’s a sound like flesh on flesh, as if she clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing too hard. “Your big day and you blew it, Prompto!” She whispers, the grin on her face obvious in her inflections._

_There’s a pause as Prompto remains motionless._

_“Okay, you’re just making it awkward. You gotta get up.” Iris’ voice is softer, worried._

_The camera shakes as Noctis warps to Prompto’s side and turns him over. Then it jumps as Iris does, at Noctis’ scream._

_“Oh, gods…” The words are too soft to make out who exactly said them, but it doesn’t matter, since everyone shares the sentiment._

_The hand holding the camera loosens, and it lands on the floor, camera-side down as the room erupts into choruses of flustered, worried muttering._

 

A knock at the door makes Noctis pause the video. This is probably the twentieth time he’s watched it, but he can’t seem to take his eyes away. He needs to watch and re-watch every second, looking for where he fucked up, where he made the mistake. What clues had he missed? But he can’t find any.

“Highness?” Ignis pokes his head through the door, and it reminds Noctis so forcefully of just before Prompto’s Induction that he has to lay his head down. “It’s about time you eat something, Highness.”

Eating is the last thing he wants to do at the moment, but pretty much everything except sleep is the last thing he wants to do now (and even that is kinda iffy), so he just rolls to his feet, swaying slightly as he stumbles into his room’s antechamber: a simple area that he had transformed into a game room. Prompto had always been jealous of it, and Noctis almost feels dirty for using it now.

Gladio looks surprised to see him, but doesn’t say anything. He’s sitting in a well-loved loveseat, book held loosely in one hand. Noctis wants to ask him how he can _read_ while Prompto’s dead, how he can enjoy _anything_ when the sun is gone from the sky, but doesn’t have the energy to ask. So he turns his gaze back to where Ignis placed a meal for him on the coffee table.

Pancakes? Why would Ignis make pancakes for dinner?

He glances outside, then at the clock. Oh, it’s the next morning again. He must have lost track of time again.

Noctis sits down and picks up his fork, starting to cut the pancakes into smaller pieces. He’s so wrapped up in his own thoughts - _what happened, why did it happen, how could I have stopped it_ \- that he doesn’t realize it’s been five minutes and he hasn’t eaten a bite until Ignis clears his throat.

“Highness, are you feeling up to a little walk? I think it will help.” Ignis’ voice is soft, not pressing.

Noctis just shrugs, then starts eating. He should be enjoying this food that Ignis worked so hard to make, but no matter how much he tries to force himself, he just can’t bring himself to care. So he eats slowly, mindlessly, just putting nutrients into his body as the others pretend not to be watching his every move.

When he finishes, Ignis cleans up as Noctis sits back in the couch, staring at his ceiling and trying not to let his mind wander, he _can’t_ let his mind wander or it will wander to-

“Highness, why don’t you get a new change of clothes, and we can go for a quick walk. Allow me to help you pick out something appropriate.” Ignis pulls Noctis’ chair back and holds out a hand to help him up if he needs it.

Noctis knocks it aside more callously than he wants, but he’s too exhausted to care. It’s so hard to keep it all together and he just wants to cry or scream or _something_ , but he’s just too damn tired. He’s too tired to care about anything, to have an opinion. He’s probably only still alive at this point thanks to Ignis suggesting he eat and drink and shower and maybe get moving a bit, some light sparring.

He hates this hollowness inside him, eating him from the inside out like a monster: all-consuming and voracious. But the more he tries to force himself to _feel_ something, happiness, anger, sadness, _anything_ , the monster comes out and eats his emotions away til he’s empty.

His room is a mess. Occasionally, Ignis had suggested that he clean it up, but he hadn’t gotten much farther than dirty clothes in one pile, clean clothes in another, and everything else in a third. The curtains are drawn, but Ignis pushes them back and takes a look around his closet, pulling some clothes from their hangers and handing them to him.

“I assume you don’t require any assistance putting these on?” Ignis quips dryly.

Noctis forces himself to smile, but it’s shaky and doesn’t reach his eyes. He grabs the fabric and holds it close. “Nah, I got it.”

Even after Ignis leaves, Noctis doesn’t put on the clothes for a few minutes afterwards. He just can’t find the energy to do anything. It’s so hard to change clothes right now, he has to take all these off, then put the new ones on, then put the dirty clothes in their pile… It was all too much, but he had to do it. This was the _least_ he could do. Changing clothes was easy, _should have been_ easy.

But it’s not. Nothing is easy anymore.

 

* * *

 

Ignis sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

Gladio glances up and puts down his book. He wasn’t really reading it anyway. “What’s up?” He asks softly, scooting to the edge of the loveseat so Ignis can join him.

“I’m worried.” Is the reply.

“Big surprise there.”  
“I’m serious, Gladio. Noctis isn’t grieving properly. He’s...he’s bottling it up, not letting anything out. It’s not healthy.”

“Last I checked, drinking yourself under the table is hardly a healthy coping mechanism either.”

Ignis flushes, the memory all too fresh.

 

* * *

 

 _He’s sitting beside Prompto’s dead body, disbelieving. Not two minutes ago, Prompto was pestering him for more information about what was happening after his Induction. And now… and now he’s dead. There’s not a mark on his body, from what Ignis can tell, nothing to tell them how or_ why _Prompto so suddenly dropped dead._

_The doctor gently pries off one of the defibrillator pads, and Ignis quickly snaps back to himself. He needs to be composed, to think logically, because Noctis, now curled in his father’s lap a few paces away, clearly cannot._

_His hands shake as he peels the second pad away, unsure of what to do with the now-used AED, so he sets it aside as the doctor gets to work putting Prompto on a gurney one of her coworkers wheeled in._

_It’s all so sudden, Ignis can’t quite wrap his mind around it. Prompto was here, and now he isn’t. The concept of death is not a foreign one to Ignis. He has seen battlefields strewn with corpses, during intelligence briefings, but all those bodies were cold, impersonal. Soldiers._

_This one was just a kid, about to be a husband._

_The king dismisses everyone, and a state of melancholy settles itself over the Citadel. Distantly, Ignis thinks he should be following the doctors, to find more information on what happened to Prompto, but his legs can’t quite work. Instead, he’s staring at the spot where Prompto_ ~~_fell_~~ _died, looking for any clue at all._

_He jumps at the hand on his shoulder, and turns to see Gladio looking down at him, eyes bright with held-back tears. “Come on,” he says, “I think we need a drink.”_

_And, hell, did Ignis need a drink._

_Luckily, they don’t have to leave the Citadel, as the kitchen boasts a well-stocked wine cabinet. Ignis doesn’t stop to think that, technically, this is stealing and therefore treason, as he takes a bottle of vermouth._

_“You’re gonna drink that stuff straight?”_

_“Yes.”_

_Gladio just shrugs and follows Ignis back to his room. It’s small and simple, little more than a bed, desk, and closet. It’s usually just what he needs, but he now realizes there’s nowhere for guests to sit except his bed, and that is off-limits to all food and drink._

_Instead, he lets Gladio sit on top of his desk as Ignis takes the chair. They pass the bottle back and forth, Ignis taking more than his share when his turn to take a drink comes. He feels the buzz by the first drink, and the sweet release of control by the second. His vision is just a touch blurry, and he can tell his words are slurring slightly, and honestly, it feels so_ damn good _for once to just say “fuck it all”._

_By the third, he knows he’s significantly impaired, but can’t quite bring himself to care. The bottle’s almost empty anyway. He takes the last swig, the room swirling into unidentifiable colors._

_And suddenly, Ignis is on the ground, the vermouth bottle just shards of glass next to him. He’s lucky he didn’t fall on top of any, or that would really-_

_Oh. Oh shit._

_“Dammit, Ig…” Gladio’s down on his hands and knees, slightly unsteady but certainly in better shape than Ignis. He manages to roll Ignis on his side, brush off the glass bits and push them in a corner for Future Ignis and Gladio to deal with. Then he helps sit Ignis up and take off his shirt to get a better look at the wounds._

_“Good news, they’re not too bad. You should be fine in a few-”_

_“‘m_ not _fine!” Ignis snaps, head lolling to the side. “‘m not fine. Prom… Prom’s gone, ‘n’... He’s gone.” he finishes softly, his vision now blurred by tears._

 _Gladio tightens his grip on Ignis’ shoulder, barely-concealed anger burning behind his eyes. “Yeah. He’s gone. He’s gone, and there’s not a_ damn _thing we can do about it, so pull your head out of your damn ass!” He’s trying for comfort, but obviously doesn’t succeed._

 _“Gods-!” Gladio runs a hand through his hair. “Just...just go to sleep. You’re really_ really _drunk.”_

 

* * *

 

Their conversation is eventually interrupted by Noctis, shuffling out of his room. Ignis leaps to his feet, still slightly unsteady from the headache pounding through his skull, but forces himself to work through it. For Noctis.

Gladio joins them as they walk around the Citadel, no real destination in mind. No one talks, it would almost be sacrilegious to do so after their resident chatterbox was dead. So they allow their steps to echo off of empty hallways.

When they pass by the training room, Ignis glances inside, and then stops short in shock. The entire place is a mess: training dummies tipped over, large gashes in the walls and floor and columns, and an entire rack of weapons clattered on the ground.

Gladio catches Ignis’ gaze and sighs. “I was drunk and angry,” is the only response he gives.

 

* * *

 

_Gods, is he angry. Angry at Prompto, for dying. Angry at himself, for not somehow stopping it from happening. Angry at Ignis, for coming undone when Gladio needed some comfort. Angry at Noctis for making this worse by wanting to propose to Prompto._

_He’s too riled up to go to bed now, even though it’s a little past midnight. He could run home, no doubt that would burn his energy, but he needs to hit something, to break something. The alcohol in his veins demands it, and he is hardly the type to say no to instinct._

_So he makes a beeline for the training room and starts whaling on the training dummies with the wooden practice sword._

_This isn’t helping. It’s tiring him out, sure, but he needs to cause destruction, to see that he is_ changing _something._

_So he brings out his real sword. He knows he shouldn’t be using this for training, but he doesn’t care. When he swings the blade, he can feel the dummy cleave neatly in two, and it feels cathartic, like he’s swinging through the gods that brought that fate upon one of his best friends._

_The anger overpowers him, and the dummies aren’t enough: they’re too soft, they fall to pieces faster than Prompto did. So he swings around and slices into one of the nearby columns. The sword bites deep into the wood, and he feels a rush of barbaric pleasure. He needs more, more,_ more. _The anger is like fire in his veins, ignited by the alcohol. For the first time in his life, he doesn’t see where he slashes, what he cuts. All he knows, as he bumbles around the training room, is that this is going to make no one happy._

_He can’t quite bring himself to care._

_“What did the training room ever do to you?”_

_The sudden appearance of a voice makes Gladio whirl around, swinging his sword in a wide arc thoughtlessly._

_Luckily, his father is quick. He throws up a shield that easily absorbs Gladio’s swing. “Good power, shit technique.” His father says._

_“Yeah, well, I don’t give two shits about your damn_ technique _, dad.” Gladio snarls, though he knows he shouldn’t be taking this out on his father, he’s just trying to help._

_“You look like you need an actual opponent. The wall isn’t exactly known for fighting back, unless you don’t pay much attention.” His tone is joking, but there is sadness etched deep in his face. He knows why Gladio is acting like this, and doesn’t quite know how to help him other than with fighting. “Wooden training swords, of course.”_

_The thought intrigues Gladio, and he nods, banishing his sword back to where ever the Crystal stores it._

_His father is good: he really shouldn’t be surprised, but his father moves fast for an old man, and Gladio’s struggling to keep up. He’s already tired himself out, and his anger makes him sloppy. Several hard raps with his father’s sword forces him to concentrate, to pay attention to his footwork and his father’s movements._

_It’s somewhat relaxing, and he finds that, slowly, his anger is ebbing away, replaced by… by something he can’t quite name. It’s not exactly contentment, he’s not there yet, but it’s somewhere between that and anger, so it’s a step in the right direction._

 

* * *

 

“And you didn’t clean it up?” Ignis asks, eyebrow raised pointedly.

“Well, it was three in the morning! I was tired!” Gladio defends himself, and they continue past the doors, leaving that problem to someone else. Probably future them, if Clarus has anything to say about it.

They pass through the gardens, breathing in the scent of lilacs and lilies of the valley as birds chitter annoyingly overhead. It’s peaceful, in its own sort of way, but it just makes them feel worse. As they make to return to Noctis’ room, an older Crownsguard runs up to them, breathless and red-faced.

“Highness!” He huffs, bracing his hands on his knees. “Highness, the doctors, they have news about…” He swallows. “They have news and they need you right away.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis and the others learn Prompto's secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! I was originally planning on going more in-depth into how Prompto's absense affected the rest of the plot, but the second chapter didn't get a lot of attention and I was losing steam, so I figured I'd best close up and move on to something else!
> 
> Also, I FINALLY got a PS4 and FFXV, so I will not be updating for a while until I finish the game and then some because oh my god is this game addicting. Like, watching someone else play it is one thing but oh my god actually playing it is worse. So don't expect an update at least til after Episode Prompto!

Noctis’ back and leg ache with overuse as he skids to a stop in front of the doctors’ offices. He pauses for a second, throat closing and hands shaking. The answers are right there, on the other side of the door, but he can’t bring himself to open it.

Thankfully, Gladio and Ignis arrive moments later, and Ignis carefully eases the door open. A secretary bobs her head up, then jumps to her feet. “H-highness!” She dips into a quick bow then scurries around her desk. “This way. Doctor Joram wanted to speak with you.”

The walk is quick, but thoughts fill up his head: what is the doctor going to say? Did they find out what happened? Was there still some way to revive him?

He tries to chase away the last thought: It was pointless, Prompto was already dead, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. But a small, stubborn part of him continued to hope.

The secretary opens a metal door labelled “morgue” and motions the three of them through before swinging it closed behind them.

A doctor is sitting at a desk in the corner, and in the center of the room, under a harsh light, is…

Noctis has to close his eyes and look away as the doctor gets to his feet. “Highness.” He nods, then notices that Noctis’ eyes are screwed shut, and his eyes dart to Prompto’s corpse, laying lifelessly on a cold metal table. “One moment,” he says, pulling up a thin sheet of fabric to cover him up.

“Now, I have a question, and pardon me if it seems forward of me, but did you ever suspect that Prompto...wasn’t quite what he said he was? That he was hiding something?” The doctor asks gently.

Noctis tries to think, his brows furrow. “W-what do you mean? No, well, in high school, when he introduced himself to me, he pretended like we’d never met before, but we went to elementary school together. Other than that, I don’t think he’s hidden anything from me. Why?”

The doctor glances to the ground, then at Prompto’s body. “It… I’m afraid I have some news for you. Prompto is from Niflheim.”

The words jangle around in Noctis’ head, and he tries to shake it loose. “What are you  _ talking _ about? He’s Lucian!”

“His death was caused by this chip,” The doctor holds up a shallow plastic bowl. Inside rests a tiny black box, almost half the size of the tip of Noctis’ pinky. “It delivered a sharp burst of electricity to his brainstem, destroying it completely in less than a second. This chip is Nif-made, according to the labs, and based on how the body grew around it, it was in there most of his life. At least since he was a few years old.” The doctor pauses, internally debating whether or not he should continue.

“He also has a barcode tattooed on his wrist. I’m not sure what it means, but it was hidden by his wristbands.” The doctor pulls a limp, almost yellowish, hand from under the sheet and adjusts it so Noctis, Ignis, and Gladio can all see the tattoo. It’s like a punch in the gut: how had they never noticed it before?

“I-” Noctis starts to speak but realizes partway through that he doesn’t know what he’s trying to say, so he shuts his mouth. 

“Do you have any ideas as to why Prompto had this chip in him at all?” Ignis steps forward, ever the logical thinker.

The doctor shakes his head. “According to the labs, it doesn’t track location, or any biometrics. It just exists to short out the brain. Single-use. I have no clues as to why any country would implant something like this in their children,” He admits, “But I thought you should know. For the funeral.”

“What do you mean, ‘for the funeral’?” Noctis’ voice is hollow, harsher than he means it to be.

“W-well, Highness, he  _ is _ from Niflheim. Perhaps a Nif funeral would be most appropriate?” He suggests.

“No, he’s Lucian, through and through. He’s going to get a Lucian burial fit for a king.”

 

* * *

 

Ignis takes the reigns while planning the funeral. He knows that it would probably be too much for Noctis to handle. He can barely run a birthday party with ten guests, let alone a wake, funeral, and reception with over a hundred. 

So Ignis plans, the best he can.

It takes a week to set everything up, Prompto’s death was so sudden, but here they are, standing around a waiting room receiving condolences from people even he barely knows. He watches from the background as an old crotchety man hobbles close, clasps Noctis’ hands in his own gnarled ones, and leans in, saying words that Ignis barely hears: family friend, heard the news, so sorry. The usual.

A young blonde woman follows behind him, giving Noctis a sad nod and smile before leading the old man to a chair near the front.

The entire Crownsguard comes, taking up an entire half of the seating area. Most of the Kingsglaive, the ones not on patrol, are there as well, taking up various empty spaces here and there. 

Prompto’s parents are standing next to Noctis, receiving the typical “I’m so sorry”s with numb, defeated expressions. Ignis had never known that Prompto’s parents had been so...lackadaisical… with the care of their child until Noctis had mentioned it a few days ago, wanting to bar them from coming.

Finally, the line filters to empty, and the service starts, right on time. It’s quick, too quick, all of Prompto’s short lifetime of accomplishments boiled down to a minute and a half. Then a prayer is said, and everyone not part of the procession filters out, back to their daily lives. Ignis and Gladio watch as Noctis stays behind, unable to look away from the casket.

Prompto is laying there, in his best tux, hair immaculately combed and styled in a way he probably wouldn’t like. His hands are rested on his chest, a single white lily, part of a bouquet from Luna, rests in his loosely clasped grip. On his right ring finger, the engagement ring that Ignis helped pick out glitters. 

Noctis bites back tears and clasps a hand around his own engagement ring, strung on a simple metal chain around his neck. Ignis places a calming hand on Noctis’ shoulder. 

“Come on,” he murmurs, “We should get going.”

 

* * *

 

The burial itself is held in a simple graveyard. Noctis had wanted him to be buried in the royal catacombs, but since Prompto had no royal blood and wasn’t technically engaged to be married, it wasn’t allowed. Gladio understood why, but it didn’t mean he totally agreed with the arrangement. As far as  _ he _ was concerned, Prompto deserved the best damn graveyard in all of Eos.

Still, Ignis had secured one of the best locations possible, bless his soul. It was within walking distance of the citadel, in a small field surrounded by poppies and peonies. Hell, Gladio passed by this way every day on his run

He picks up the slack when Noctis nearly buckles under the weight of the casket as the two of them, along with Ignis and Prompto’s father, carry it to the grave site. It’s heavy, even for Gladio. The wood is thick and sturdy, inlaid with simple gold detailing, but perhaps the heaviest part of all is the body inside, crushing him with guilt.

Then, a few words are said, and Prompto’s body is lowered into the ground. It brings tears to Noctis’ eyes, and for the first time since Prompto had been taken away, he bursts into tears. 

Gladio probably shouldn’t feel this relieved at Noctis’ heartbreak, but seeing him express some emotion besides  _ dead to the world _ is slightly uplifting, like the emotion he experienced after the bout with his father. He and Ignis quickly wrap themselves around Noctis, warm and comforting as he hiccups through the sobs, “I can’t believe he’s gone. He’s really gone…” He trails off into more sobs as he’s ushered back to the car. Gladio sits in the back with him, rubbing comforting circles into his arm as he hugs the sobbing prince close

He’s vividly reminded of when Noctis was ten years old and fractured his leg while training. Gladio sat with him, talking with him through the pain, as Ignis ran for help. By the time a doctor had arrived, Noctis’ screaming tears had subsided into low, muffled sobs, laughing weakly at a joke about little sisters that Gladio was telling.

This time, however, Gladio doesn’t talk. Instead, he let Noctis fill the silence with whatever he wants. Mostly he’s silent, but towards the beginning of the car ride, he asks, “There’s a lunch-thing, right?”

“Yes,” Ignis responds

“...I don’t want to go. Do I have to?”

Ignis pauses, then looks at Gladio, who shrugs. “I’m cool with ditching.” He says.

With that, Ignis turns the wheel sharply, heading back towards the Citadel.

 

* * *

 

Noctis is grateful that Ignis and Gladio let him skip the luncheon. He didn’t want to sit with people he barely knew, talking about Prompto like they didn’t just bury him ten minutes ago. He just wants to cry and scream and curse the gods for what they did to Prompto. 

And when he gets back to his room, that’s exactly what he does.

It’s cathartic, to say the least, and when his anger and desperation run their course, he’s left sobbing in the middle of a ruined room, everything thrown about like it was the center of a tornado. Eventually, his sadness runs out again and he’s just sitting. But it’s not the hollow, emotionless sitting he’s gotten used to over the past few days. It’s a new feeling of emptiness, like he just pulled a nasty thorn from his foot. Yeah, there’s still a hole in his foot, but it’s not entirely a bad feeling.

Eventually, Noctis manages to drag himself to his shower and turn on the water. He doesn’t really wash himself, just stands under the water until he’s lost track of time. It feels good, the heat, and it helps him clear his head.

Prompto wouldn’t want him to wallow around in pity. As hard as it may be, Noctis knows he has to get back to his normal life. He has to fight against his all-consuming exhaustion and sadness that threatens to drag him into darkness and suffocate him.

It’s that knowledge that gets him to turn off the water and dry off, to change clothes and actually leave his room. He’s just stumbling down the hallway, but he’s doing it by himself without anyone prompting him to do it, and he feels accomplished.

He finds himself leaving the Citadel, walking down the familiar path towards the main gate. The Crownsguard standing guard there nod as he pass, and he nods back, automatically, then continues on his way, head in a fog that he can’t quite clear. When the fog clears, he realizes he’s walking back towards Prompto’s grave and he stops short.

Can he really do this? All alone? But a desire to prove himself, to work through the helplessness that tries to drag him down, pushes him to continue on. Surprisingly, there’s a few people still around Prompto’s grave, but Noctis is too far away to make out much.

As he gets closer, he realizes that he doesn’t recognize any of them, at least from the back, and he picks up his gait.

They’re young, maybe late teens, early twenties, and there’s three of them, huddled around Prompto’s grave and nudging each other. As he comes closer, Noctis can make out a… is that a  _ hammer _ in one of their hands?

Anger coils in Noctis’ chest, and he shouts in his best, most commanding voice, “Hey!”

The three whirl around, and through the gaps in their bodies, Noctis can make out words written on Prompto’s grave in spray paint the same color as another has clenched in one hand.

_ Niff traitor. _

_ Scum. _

_ Glad ur dead. _

The words release the anger in his chest and he summons his sword with a shout, “Get away from there! Don’t  _ touch _ him!” He warps close and lashes out with a fist, connecting with the face of the kid holding the spray paint. She goes down with a grunt as the other two dart away with surprised shouts. The spray paint kid scrambles to her feet and hurries after her friends, and the three of them disappear through the peony bushes.

Noctis makes to chase after them, but a glance at Prompto’s gravestone stops him in his tracks and nearly bring tears to his eyes. He can’t leave Prompto looking like this. He needs to clean it up. So he reaches into his pocket and dials a familiar number.

“Hey Ig,” Noct starts. “Can...can you bring a bucket of water and some rags to Prompto’s grave? And some soap?” His voice breaks towards the end, but Ignis graciously doesn’t comment on it.

“May I ask what happened?

“It...it’s- these assholes graffitied Prompto’s fucking grave! Like, terrible things, and I need to get them  _ out _ !”

There’s a pause as Ignis inhales sharply. “We’ll be there soon.”

Noctis is desperately scraping at the paint with his fingernails, trying to scrape off as much as he can when he spots three figures coming towards him. For a second, he thinks it’s the three vandals, and he jackknifes to his feet, whirling around in anger.

But it’s only Ignis, Gladio and Cor. They’re carrying buckets, rags, and some chemical solution that Noctis can’t make out.

Gladio’s knuckles whiten as he tightens his grip on the buckets in anger upon seeing what’s written on Prompto’s grave, but he takes a deep breath and sets the buckets down. “C’mon,” he says, voice low and comforting, “let’s get rid of this ugly shit. Gotta keep his grave photogenic, right?”

Noctis nods, dunking a rag into one of the buckets and scrubbing at  _ Niff traitor _ scrawled in red letters. He loses track of time, as well as the feeling of his hands, as he scrubs enough of the spray paint away so that it’s faint, unreadable.

But it’s still visible, and that makes Noctis want to puke. Everything that Prompto’s ever done for Noctis, and this is the best he can do? Scrubbing away some of the paint that shouldn’t have been allowed to be there in the first place? His shoulders shake with sobs as he drops the wet rag into his lap.

Of all the hands to rest gently on his shoulders, Noctis didn’t think it would be Cor, but there was no mistaking that cool, calloused hand. 

“You’re doing enough, Highness,” His voice is soft and cool, hints of sorrow breaking through, “Prompto would thank you.”

His encouragements only make him feel worse. “But how can I keep this from happening again? I’ll come back tomorrow, and it’ll just be  _ worse _ . I’ll spend my whole damn life cleaning it up!”

Cor leans back, bracing himself on his hands as a soft smile breaks out on his face. “You know, Weskham, one of your dad’s old buddies, he used to  _ love _ collecting pieces of china. Don’t ask me why, but he did. Well-”

“Is there a point to this?” Noctis asks bluntly, his exhaustion making it hard to pretend to care anymore.

“If you’ll let me finish,” Cor says pointedly. When he takes in Noctis’ silence, he continues. “Well, if you know Weskham for  _ any _ amount of time, you’ll know he’s as graceful as a three-legged catoblepas. He was always breaking his favorite china. So he asked your father to come up with a spell that would protect things. Not only from damage, but also, as Weskham found out one day when he tried to paint his name on the bottom of one of the cups, from any marks of any kind: the sun, water, acid, you name it,” Cor finishes.

Noctis’ heart pounds in his chest at the implication. “You mean my dad...He has a spell that would protect Prompto’s grave?”

Cor nods, “Yeah. With your magic, you could protect Prompto for as long as you live.”

It’s almost too good to be true, but after a hasty Skype call with his father explaining the ins and outs of this particular protection spell, Noctis is ready to try. 

He places his hands on the gravestone, concentrating on the feeling of magic flowing through him, that tug in the pit of his stomach that meant the Crystal was responding to his wishes. He poured his magic into the gravestone, filling it with holy light, until he felt about ready to pass out. He broke the connection and swayed back into Gladio’s study grasp.

“There, Prompto,” Noctis breathes, relief flooding his chest. “You’ll be safe now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SCREAM ABOUT FFXV WITH ME!
> 
> [Main Blog](http://justanotherfxckingfangirl.tumblr.com/) (Cosplay, Various fandoms, ect)  
> [FFXV Blog](https://stuck-in-ffxv-hell.tumblr.com/) Me yelling incoherently about my favorite thing in the world


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